well, it smells of cheap wine and cigarettesthis place is always such a mess

This is a bit of a weird thing - mostly cause I don't actually know some of the answers but here's the story, regardless.

Where I live the way it's set up is that we're at the end of this tiny little road and the property is narrow at the beginning and great big and fat at the end. As you come up the driveway you pass two houses - with numerous tenants, whom I've never seen, but one has a cat - Apollo - who is so old his meow cracks and who is so lonely he stalks us all, patting at the windows and knocking on the doors. Then, a little bit farther, on the right, there's the shop and the part of the shop where Stef & Cam have lived for seven years while they get out from under the sheer cost of this place, the barns in the middle and me on the left - before habitation ends and the property stretches the rest of the way back.

Now, Cam is a heavy duty mechanic and as I look out my window, I can see five big honking trucks. Down the driveway there's at least six more and I think I saw a school bus back there the other day. There're tractors and drums full of motor bits and oh, it's boy heaven here. They're all good trucks, I mean, it's not a graveyard full of hulking rusted monsters, although there is a bit of that as well, but these trucks are constantly moving around. I can close the blinds at 7 pm so no one can see in and open them at 9 am the next morning and they'll all have shifted places in the meantime, like some illicit secret truck ballet rehearsed in the dead of night.

Stef's "area" is the animals. She doesn't work in the traditional sense and so she runs the farm. Sheep, cows, miniature donkeys, chickens, geese, 6 border collies, 5 cats, she feeds the crows to keep the ravens away, there's a seagull named Gus with a lame leg who lives down the end of the driveway. You know, the regular menagerie and all it's assorted hangers-on.

Then there's Kevin. Back before I left, Stef worked in some sort of day care program for the school board and I get the feeling that this teenager was one of those kids. I don't know his story, I don't know anything about him, I don't even talk to him. He doesn't talk to me. I'm sure he thinks it's just downright fucked up that I showed up one day and moved into an RV, but whatever. Now, Kevin is, as near as I can tell - in his last year of high school. They mentioned at some point that he was the youngest person to ever get his air brake or truck licence or something and judging by the fact that he's always working on the trucks or in the shop, I'm assuming that he's learning from Cam.

He is here ALL THE TIME. Cam also has a regular job and Kevin is around even when Cam's at work and no one else is here. I'm pretty sure he goes home every night but I'll get up at 8 am on a Saturday and he's out there in his little mechanic overalls poking at one of the trucks.

It's creepy.

Anyways, a couple weeks ago a horse showed up. Stef mentioned that it belonged to Kevin's girlfriend. This girl would show up every once in a while, lead it around for a bit and then leave. I figure, hey, Stef's keeping it for her and feeding it and who am I to wonder about that - I mean, they bought *me* an RV, dropped a couple grand on a septic tank, pay most of the bills and I'm just covering the loan on the fifth wheel. And asked me yesterday if I wanted one of the houses instead so they could give one of the tenants notice (more money, would have to find furniture, not worth it, I'm fine here in my little home).

I'd pass it in the morning, standing with the two miniature donkeys whose heads are barely up to it's belly, looking lonely and, I imagine, a little sheepish that there's no one else to 'hang' with.

Friday, there's another horse.

I mentioned it while I was doing laundrey and Stef tells me that she actually bought the horse so Kevin's girlfriend could ride it and that she bought the new horse is so the other one isn't so lonely.

But, they're both going to need to be exercised regularily and as far as I know, Stef's not a big rider so I guess you could say, "I just got a horse."

How cool is that?

Considering that part of my fitness testing is a half hour of 'stepping', I quashed the urge to saddle up to return Finding Neverland this morning to, instead, get on my bike.

Seriously, it's like 1 and a half km but ow ow ow, holy mother of god. That big long muscle on the top of my thigh? Not used for jogging. And it's been hibernating for quite some time.

And madder than a wounded grizzly at being so callously disturbed.

well I've wanted more from this then anything I've ever knowndear Joan

For those of you who weren't around a year ago when we came up with a name for my journey next year, there was this great name that ended up being the 'winner'. Of course, in the way of my world - one of the people who I moved this site because of was the person who actually came up with that name.

So. What to do?

Rename? Leave it called "Navigating the Warm Bits" until closer to the end of the year and then revert back to the original name? Which I can't even write because then it can be used to search for me. (arg).

I'm torn. It was a GREAT name. But now, it bothers me. It's tainted. Yanno?

Anyways, there were three other names I liked and one new one I've added so if you could be so kind as to tell me if you really like any of them, then I'll take that into consideration while deciding what the hell to do.

For those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about - I'm spending a year living as far below my means as possible, paying off all my debt, finally getting my dual UK citizenship and then... leaving. The other blog at the moment contains only a map but the idea is to be gone at least two years and to maybe not come back to Canada. In the last few months, I've sold almost everything of value I have, used it to finance a move to live in an RV in my hometown, rented out my condo, doubled my yearly income and am well on my way to having everything paid off.

In a nutshell.

So, it's serious. This plan of mine. And the name is too. So leave a comment (there are two based on my name - Jen - and two not) and help me out. (Again, for some of you).

Every morning, at roughly 6:50 am, I drive by the golf course by my house. This snap doesn't do it justice really and the perspective is all wrong but it's the best I could find on the web, so I'm apologizing in advance

Picture, if you will, that the green continues about 20 feet to the left at which point the road I drive along is there. This area slopes towards you to up to a clubhouse about 100 metres behind you and the course extends another 1/2 km to the right. So, every morning I enter the picture over at the left and drive towards and past you.

(Things like this make me *yearn* for August, when I'll be able to afford the digital camera but for now, you'll just have to use your imagination because.....)

somebody once asked could you spare some change for gasI need to get myself away from this placeI said yep what a conceptI could use a little fuel myselfand we could all use a little change

he: Ma'am, if you could just come over here, I'll be able to get your bill for that propane. [pause] I've given you two extra air miles today, Mrs. *****

me: I think that since you've just called me MA'AM and MRS, you pretty much owe me extra air miles, buddy.

he: Oh, I'm so sorry. [pause] So, you're single?

me: ---And you're a foot and a half shorter than me, a few years older, wearing a really sad goatee and working in a gas station. My life's not quite that bad. Yet.---

And yes, that last part *was* just in my head.

Two

**background: we've known for a while that we have to go on call. Typically, to this point, there's been people who take the emergencies but they are just the two people who've been around the longest. The rest of us, we've never had to but that's not really very fair, right? At least, I don't think so. And apparantly, neither do those two people.**

she: So, I'm just not sure what exactly you're asking of me here. You want us to go on call? One week in every three?

more senior she: Yes.

she: And the expectation there is? What? I'm in a movie? At the theatre? Out drinking with friends? And I have to take the cell phone call?

more senior she: Yes. But I can tell you in 20 years, I've only ever had to come to the actual site maybe a dozen times.

she: And what if I'm at a friends place? Drinking wine? And I'm drunk?

more senior she: Well, you can't be. There's a zero tolerance policy.

she: I see.

more senior she: If there's a problem around that, then we're going to have to discuss it.

she: Oh, we WILL. Privately.

It was actually a lot more errm.. *loaded* than that, but you get the point, I'm sure.

I'm pretty sure if I wanted to go out and get pissed, someone else would take the damn phone. I'll be the first to admit I could use a 'cap' on the ability to sit out here alone and drink, considering that it absolutely destroys me emotionally and physically for days afterwards. (See? I just admitted it.) Besides, the expectation is that it would be bad all around if it rang all the time, so if things were working out that way..... it wouldn't be a viable plan to continue, financially and staff-wise from a business point of view.

Plus.... you're 47. Learn to control yourself cause you just SO came off sounding really really really bad. Especially since no one else drinks but me. And I don't talk about it. And you do.

A lot.

Sounded

Really.

Bad.

push just a little too lateI wanted more than thispush just a little too lateI expected more than this

I can honestly say I'd almost completely forgotten the nausea-go-round of Celexa and that last time I could only eat cold food. Newsflash: for me the half dosage at bedtime is a gift that keeps right on giving all night and all day too! And to think that spring-time was making me nostalgic for the parades and fairs of my childhood.

I'm afraid to burp.

The plague is mostly gone but at some point during the days spent in a pool of my own sweat I pinched a nerve or something in my neck and now both sides are constantly screeching because this month, obviously, is making one final end-run at wearing me down to a nubbin.

Tomorrow is Matt's birthday. Well, today, actually, if you're in Australia. And some other places. And it makes me sad. Especially since I have no idea what's going on and the only birthday wish I could send was....

"I don't know what to say that would be appropriate so.... you know, think of what you'd want to hear and pretend I said that."

That's all I got. There's too much space in here between things but fixing it is totally escaping me. Work is there. I am here. Sometime next week I'll be somewhere else writing an aptitude test for those people who wear funny colors and try to blend into the landscape.

So, here are some interesting words I found while double-checking how to spell nausea. Cause all I can do, really, is whine. (You think?)

narghile: which is the real name for a hookah. Or water pipe. Who knew?

naprapathy: a system of treatment based on the theory that disease symptoms are due to strained or contracted ligaments and disorders of the connective tissue and can be cured by massage.

neap: designating the tide occurring just after the first and third quarters of the lunar month: at these times the difference between high and low tides is smallest.

nevus: a colored spot on the skin, usually congenital; birthmark or mole.

So, then, a sentence. Before I think that maybe I should have picked the words based on the fact that I would now say I'd use them in a sentence.

ahem

I was convinced that the pustulating pulsating nevus on my back could be cured by a naprapath but I couldn't find one who would get within five feet of it, let alone close enough to treat it. Despairing, I consulted a witch doctor who insisted that my only hope to avoid liquefying into a puddle of stinky gangrenous slime was to stand on one leg, wearing naught but pasties, under the old stone bridge at midnight during a neap tide and smoking a bowl of crow feathers in a hookah purchased from his dwarf craftsman sister.

And with that...I bid you adieu.

and I can't really tell you what I'm gonna dothere are so many thoughts in my headthere are two roads to walk down and one road to chooseso I'm thinking over the things that you've said

I saw in our weekly newsmagazine today that the very first US spammer to be tried under the new anti-spam laws was sentenced to nine years. He earned up to $750,000 a month and sent up to 10 million emails a day.